


Faking Your Way Through Thanksgiving Dinner

by quokkall



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Mistletoe, Prompt Fill, TIVA - Freeform, Thanksgiving, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quokkall/pseuds/quokkall
Summary: AU where Tony and Ziva live in the same apartment building, but don’t really know each other, and Tony asks her to be his fake date for Thanksgiving.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this in the spirit of Tiva Fic Amnesty on tumblr, because I'm not happy with it, but I don't have the energy to rewrite it, and I also don't want to let 4000+ words die a dusty digital death on my laptop...Enjoy. Hopefully.

 “Hey, Ziva, right?”

Ziva turns around, facing the neighbor whose habits she’s learned by heart since moving in, but is for all intents and purposes still a stranger.

“We don’t really know each other, we had a brief chat about a month ago,” Tony says.

“That was three months ago and I asked you to keep the noise down, right before your grandmother showed up.”

“Yeah, sorry, what can I say, the ladies love me.”

He delivers the line with a million dollar smile and so much glee, she can’t help but bring his ego down a notch.

“I can deal with five minutes of porn sounds coming from your apartment, I can’t deal with hours of uninterrupted blockbuster explosions and gunfights.”

Tony clears his throat, then scoffs awkwardly. Clearly he had forgotten what that conversation had actually been about.

“How did you know that was my grandmother?”

Ziva narrows her eyes at his sudden change of subject. “Little old Italian lady,” she looks him up and down, “30-something playboy who suddenly seemed very ill at ease when she showed up.”

“Ha, yeah. Anyway, my grandmother asked about you”

Ziva quirks an eyebrow.

“And, um, she invited you to my family’s Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Well, you’re really cute, and I thought you might be lonely, you haven’t lived here for that long, and,” he shrugged, then mumbled “I may have told my family we were dating.”

Ziva guffaws.

“Hey! Every woman in my family has been harassing me about my dating habits and telling me to settle down. Do you have any idea how many aunts and cousins I have? I can’t handle that much pressure.”

“I can imagine, you can barely handle bringing home the same girl more than once.”

Tony raises his chin and looks down at her. “The food will be amazing, the company loud. And I will owe you.”

Ziva laughs and Tony rolls his eyes before turning towards his open door. As preposterous as the idea of fake dating sounds, she hasn’t been undercover in a while. This could be an easy way to refresh her skills.

“I’ll do it,” Ziva says.

Tony faces her again, and his eyebrows squish together. “Really?”

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow, and amazing food sounds good.”

She deliberately leaves out the part about honing her skills, not in the least because she has no intention of telling a Navy cop she is Mossad. When she found out he worked for NCIS, after she moved into her apartment, she had started avoiding him as much as possible. But, someone owing you a favor, especially someone in law enforcement, could always come in handy.

“Thank you,” he says and grabs her upper arms as if she was a lifeline and he was drowning. He reaches into his back pocket and hands her three sheets of folded paper. “So, these are all my likes, dislikes, favorite drinks, the last two pages are my favorite movies categorized by genre.”

Ziva gapes at him. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as much fun as she initially thought.

“By the way, if anyone asks, we met at an adult store.”

At her raised eyebrows he says, ”Trust me, it’s a funny story.”

She watches him walk into his apartment with a spring in his step and a wide grin on his face.

Maybe this will be fun, after all.

Tony babbles about every single family member the entire ride to his grandmother’s house.  It isn’t until they arrive at their destination that he seems to realize he doesn’t know anything about her.

“We will wing it,” she says with a wink, then adds, “mon petit pois.”

His gaze flicks to her mouth. Apparently the ridiculous endearment struck a chord.

“You speak French,” he says and the corners of his mouth quirk upwards.

Did his voice sound the tiniest bit lower? Playing with him on this fake date just got a whole lot more interesting.

“I do.” She says in a sultry voice.

His grin widens and he quirks an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he says as they get out the car. He looks her up and down quickly. “What does it mean?”

“My pea,”

His grin fades and he looks at her sideways as they walk up the driveway. “Never call me that again.”

“Very well, my little hairy butt.”

He turns towards her as they reach the front door and scowls. “You know what, I’ve just decided we’re not the kind of couple that does terms of endearment.”

Ziva chuckles and holds a finger to her lips just as the door opens. They are whisked inside by Aunt Laura, and Ziva asks her how she’s recovering from the hip replacement. Tony sends her an impressed little smile, Aunt Laura pats Ziva’s hand and shimmies her hips a little.

Tony’s eyes become more curious as she charms her way through his family, bringing up the little facts he had divulged on the way over; Rose’s fur coat which turned out to be a fake, Eduardo’s classic Thunderbird breaking down again, one of Francesca’s kids breaking her favorite vase, and on and on.

The introductions seem to go on indefinitely, until they finally reach Tony’s grandmother and he proudly introduces her as Nonna. The 87-year-old purses her lips into a thin line and narrows her eyes at Ziva in scrutiny before asking Tony in Italian whether he’s treating her right. Ziva surprises both of them by replying in Italian, that so far, he’s treated her better than anyone. Her gaze meets his and she sends him a warm smile.

The smile doesn’t seem to distract him much, though. Hopefully it fooled his family. When his grandmother clasps her hands together in delight at the fact that Ziva speaks Italian, she can see the wheels in his head turning as he mentions she also speaks French and Hebrew.

“Haven’t used Google translate in months,” he says, and she leans closer to pat him on the chest.

“I travel a lot, for work,” Ziva explains.

“Ah yes, the job, tell them about it,” Tony says.

He snakes an arm around her waist and squeezes her a little tighter. Ziva meets his eyes and the sweetness that laced his voice is nowhere to be found. Instead, she’s met with a look he’s undoubtedly used on female suspects and she berates herself for getting caught out so easily at keeping secrets. Then she remembers he literally knows nothing about her, making everything a secret.

Ziva turns her attention to the family members gathered around them and says, “I work for an Israeli company. We have operations worldwide, I help gather and analyze information, find the right people, make sure documents are in order.” She waves her hands dismissively, “It is boring to explain, but I get to travel, it is rewarding and,” she trails off and meets Tony’s gaze again and smiles fondly, “occasionally, I get to meet some very interesting people.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Aunt Laura clutch her hands to her chest at her last words, and Ziva decides she’s not as out of practice as she feared. Tony, though. Tony was going to be a challenge. The goofball playboy act she had seen so far had clearly been mostly that; an act. He was cleverer than he let on. An excited tingle ran through her body.

An hour later Tony takes her aside and points at the Star of David necklace which had slipped from below her shirt collar. “I, um, I forgot you were Jewish.”

Ziva frowns and touches the pendant.

“I don’t think any of the food is kosher,” he says apologetically.

“That is fine, I do not keep kosher.” She smiles at the relief washing over his face.

“Great,” he says and looks over his shoulder, then leans in close. “So, my grandmother is a really devout Catholic, this one time I saw her make a Jehovah’s Witness cry because he disagreed on the importance of Jesus.”

Ziva raises an eyebrow, and fiddles with her necklace, wondering where this conversation was going.

“To avoid lengthy religious discussions, it would be easier if you removed your necklace-“

“No,” Ziva said forcefully and Tony leaned back a couple of inches. She glanced around to make sure nobody was within hearing distance, and continued in a sharp tone, “I agreed to this fake date, I will even stick my tongue down your throat to play the part, but I will never take off this necklace.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Ziva, I didn’t realize-“

The broken English of his Nonna asking Ziva if she was Jewish cut his apology short.

“I am,” Ziva says and slips the necklace underneath her shirt collar. She eyes Nonna’s crucifix pendant, then says, “We practically have a whole testament in common.”

The old woman lets out a laugh and pats Ziva on the cheek. “Then you and I have more in common than little Anthony,” she says with a nod in Tony’s direction, before walking away and ordering everyone to table.

Ziva chuckles wide-eyed, then leans in close to whisper, “Little Anthony?”

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Just…don’t.”

But Ziva can’t help herself and lets her gaze drift down his body, all the while trying to suppress the laughter bubbling inside her.

“I’m beginning to think this whole fake dating thing was a mistake,” he hisses next to her ear.

“What could possibly go wrong on a fake date,” she says in a lilting voice, then pecks him on the lips and pulls him towards the big dining room table.

Three courses in, belt buckles and buttons are opened and it’s unanimously decided to leave a bit more time between the next courses.

Ziva sees this as an opportunity to retreat to the empty kitchen and reflect on how the “mission” is going. Leaning against the counter she has an open view of the main dining room table and about half of Tony’s family. Her gaze briefly meets Nonna’s and she hopes the smile she sends the old woman conceals how much she misses having a real family.

That’s when Tony walks in giving her the once-over, then leaning against the butcher block table across from her.

“Taking a break from the DiNozzo onslaught? Can’t say I blame you.” He tips his non-alcoholic beer towards her, takes one last swig and places the empty bottle behind him.

“You have a very nice, very nosy family,” Ziva says solemnly and briefly looks over at the crowded dining room. When she focuses on Tony again, she finds him staring at her.

She leans forward and grabs his wrist, pulling him towards her. His eyebrows raise as a slow smile builds on his lips.

“You’re not really selling it, though,” she says in a low voice, looking up at him while intertwining their fingers.

“I wasn’t exactly sure how far you were willing to go with this,” he murmurs with a wavering smile.

Lowering her voice she says, “I distinctly remember telling you I would stick my tongue down your throat if I had to.”

“You’re such a romantic.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he moves his hands to her waist.

Ziva pulls his head down and whispers huskily in his ear, “Fake romance will cost you another favor.”

Tony chuckles and looks into her eyes. “Why do I feel like I made a deal with the devil?”

Ziva lets out a throaty laugh and places a hand on his cheek, bringing his face inches from hers. “Your grandmother is watching us like a hawk,” she murmurs, lips almost touching.

She feels his face turn into the direction of the dining room and increases the pressure with her hand to make sure he doesn’t. “You are a cop, you should know better than to blatantly look at someone who’s secretly watching you.”

“First of all, you’re referring to my grandmother. Second of all, I’m off the clock and surrounded by family.”

Ziva glances away, wondering what that would feel like, to be truly off the clock and surrounded by people you trust implicitly.

“Do tell why _you_ know better than to directly look at possible suspects,” he says in a low voice.

Ziva looks him in the eye and sees intrigue mix with desire there, so she closes the distance and slowly touches his lips with hers. His fingers flex and extend at her waist and she draws back, resting her forehead against his.

She runs her thumb over his lips, and before she can drown in his eyes and forget that none of this is real, she says, “I read a lot of spy novels.”

She rakes a hand through his hair and closes the distance once more, running her lips over his, tasting the lingering flavor of the beer he had mere minutes ago. She keeps her kisses light and chaste. She’s trying to sell the cover of a girlfriend to a family, after all, not give an R-rated show.

It doesn’t take long—unfortunately, because he turns out to be quite a good kisser—for “oohs” and “awws” to start drifting into the kitchen. Ziva breaks the kiss and leans her head against his chest, facing away from the dining room, hoping to show just the right amount of embarrassment at getting caught by his family.

When his arms engulf her she looks up at him again and quirks one corner of her mouth. Something flickers across his face before he turns to his family and chides them for acting like they’ve never seen two people in love before. She fiddles with a button on his shirt as she feels her ears turn red at his words. Maybe he’s better at this faking thing then she had anticipated.

A few aunts and cousins wander into the kitchen to prepare the next course. Ziva offers to help, but is shooed away with an “you already have your hands full” and a wink. Tony takes this as an invitation to plop them both down on the couch and absentmindedly play with her hair while he stares at a football game on TV. When she comments on the poor choice of name of the sport, and gets the stink eye from all surrounding DiNozzo men, she decides to focus her attention on how she definitely should not be enjoying Tony’s hand in her hair quite so much.

Two courses, and a lot of anecdotes from Tony’s past—some more embarrassing than others—later, Ziva realizes the superficial profile she made of her neighbor, the one currently staring at her with a twinkle in his eye, arm loosely draped around her shoulder, had been a little too superficial.

“How about you, Ziva, do you have any siblings?” Aunt Laura asks.

It is an everyday question, one she had expected hours earlier. But now, after more than half a day with this loving family, the answer doesn’t seem so simple anymore. She’s still staring in Tony’s eyes when she realizes how badly she wants to tell the truth. Especially on this day. Her siblings may be gone, but she is forever grateful for the time they had together.

It isn’t until she sees something shift in Tony’s eyes, that she feigns having been distracted, because really, she should have answered by now.

“No, unfortunately not,” Ziva replies shaking her head a little.

It sounds convincing, even to her own ears. But when she meets Tony’s gaze again, her convincing-yet-fake smile falters the slightest. The curiosity from mere seconds ago is now replaced with suspicion.

But then there’s something else Ziva’s grateful for; the dessert one of the cousins places in front of her. If she eats it very slowly she won’t have to look into his prying eyes again. And why is she suddenly feeling guilty. She’s never felt guilty about eating dessert before.

The conversation continues around her, and she’s not entirely certain, but it almost seems as if Tony is making sure she has to contribute as little as possible. Whether he’s doing that for her benefit, or his family’s, she doesn’t know.

In any case, by the time everyone finishes the last course, Ziva is blocking out the sudden onset of guilt like a professional, and asking for the recipe while wiping a crumb off Tony’s face.

The aunts finally accept her help to clear off the table and do the dishes, and the men once more congregate in front of the TV. She feels Tony’s eyes burning a hole in her back the whole time.

As the cheers and jeers coming from the living room increase in volume, Sophia, one of Tony’s cousins whom he insists on calling Loren, takes her by the arm and leads her towards the far side of the kitchen.

“How much do you know about Tony’s…past?” Sophia asks her quietly.

“If you are referring to his attempts to make Casanova proud…enough,” Ziva replies smoothly.

Sophia keeps staring at her with such open curiosity that Ziva momentarily wonders if anything she said or did gave her away.

But then the woman, who was probably more her age than Tony’s, places a hand on her arm and says, “I’m sorry, I just…” She stares in the direction of the loud cheering suspiciously, then leans in and says, “I’ve never seen Tony bring a date to a family dinner.”

Ziva bows her head and feels some of the tension leave her body.

“I’ve seen him leave a family dinner with my brother Vinny’s date one time, though.” The woman crosses her arms and glances away briefly. “Needless to say, that didn’t end well.”

Ziva snickers. “I can imagine.”

“You better not be discussing my sexual prowess, laughing like that.”

Tony’s low voice next to her ear sends a tingle down her spine. She’s suddenly glad she was somewhat prepared for his presence, having seen him walk into the kitchen from the corner of her eye.

Ziva looks at him over her shoulder, coy smile on her lips. “I would never discuss your sexual prowess, or lack thereof, with your family.”

He narrows his eyes at her and scrunches his nose, she leans back slightly and bumps into him with a wink, making the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

That is, until he points at his cousin and dramatically says, “Loren, stop sharing embarrassing stories about me with Ziva.”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “Then stop embarrassing yourself.”

 Tony huffs and counters, “You and I both know that’s not going to happen.”

And once again, Ziva is distracted by the desire to be part of a family. A family where cousins bicker like siblings. It’s odd to feel this lonely surrounded by so many people.

Tony’s soft lips at the corner of her mouth bring her out of her reverie. And when he walks out the back door, she instantly misses the warmth of his body so close to hers, and can’t help but stare after him. She frowns at the closed door, not quite sure what to make of these feelings. She’s not romantic. She doesn’t fall in love easily. So what was so different-

“You guys look so good together,” Sophia almost squeals as she grabs Ziva by the arms.

Ziva opens her mouth, unsure of what to say.

But then Sophia gives her a sly look, tells her they really don’t need extra help with the dishes, and practically shoves her onto the porch.

Ziva looks through the glass pane of the closing back door and feels slightly mortified when Sophia grins widely giving her two thumbs up. Suddenly the mission where she went undercover as the girlfriend of a Hamas terrorist seems a thousand times easier than this. Perhaps not easier, but definitely less confusing.

She resists the urge to sigh, and faces Tony who offers her a bemused smile. He’s sitting on the porch swing, right arm draped casually over the back and she walks over to him.

“So, is your mother dressing you up as a sailor the reason you became a Navy cop?” She sits down next to him, careful not to make the bench swing.

He breathes out a laugh, “No, it was a little more complicated than that.”

Ziva takes in his demeanor and decides not to push it. Whatever the reason, it obviously wasn’t an entirely happy one. Should a day that revolves around giving thanks be riddled with so many sad memories?

A chill runs through her when a gust of wind sweeps over them, blowing her loose curls in Tony’s face. He tucks them behind her ear, hand lingering, and another chill runs through her. She briefly wonders if Tony would have had the same effect on her if there had been someone to…take the edge off since she moved to America.

She looks up at the dark sky, sparsely sprinkled with stars, and rubs her hands together for warmth. They’re really not dressed to be outside in this weather for long. Tony lightly pushes her forward and takes the oversized soft throw from the back of the swing, wrapping it around both of them.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, until Ziva’s curiosity gets the best of her once more.

“Do you miss your father not being here?”

He keeps staring straight ahead when he answers, “Not really.”

Another touchy subject, she decides. To lighten the mood, she bumps her knee against his to get his attention and asks, after glancing through the kitchen window behind them, “Do you think he would have believed us…dating?”

Tony lets out a sardonic laugh. “He probably would’ve been too busy sweeping you off your feet to give it much thought.”

Ziva takes in his wry smile and says, “I assure you, I am very steady on my feet.”

He squints at her. “What about your father? Would he buy us dating?”

She barks out a laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Should I be offended?”

“No…my father is…” And this time it’s her turn to look away and stare straight ahead. “He is not easy to fool.”

“And my family is?”

He almost sounds offended, so she turns to him and places a hand on his knee underneath the blanket. “What I meant was…he expects people to lie to him.”

She regrets divulging this much when his brows knit and his mouth opens to speak. But then she picks up a noise from behind the door, and she remembers why she’s there.

Ziva closes the distance between them and says, “Someone’s coming.”

She takes advantage of his confusion, and open mouth, and kisses him deeply, just as laughter from the kitchen drifts out onto the porch.

His right hand palms the back of her head as he kisses her back greedily. When he almost pulls her onto his lap with his other hand, she wonders whether they’re taking things too far. Then again, it’s his family, surely he knows how to behave naturally around them. It certainly feels natural.

By the time the door closes again, and the laughter is silenced, she no longer needs the blanket to feel warm in the cold night air. Tony swirling her tongue with his, while running one of his hands underneath her shirt, is making her temperature rise quickly.

The offending smell of cigar smoke makes them break apart and finally look up at the reason they started making out in the first place.

“Don’t mind me,” Eduardo says with a smirk.

Tony locks eyes with her once more. The almost carnal look he gives her, tells her he’s actually considering picking up where they left off. Her gaze flicks to his wet lips and he’s in charge tonight, so she’ll play along with whatever he throws at her. Any excuse is a good excuse, she thinks as he runs a hand over her ass under the cover of the blanket.

But then he clears his throat unexpectedly, stands up pulling her with him, and says, “It’s getting chilly out here.”

Eduardo chuckles as they both head for the door. “I don’t know, you two look a bit flushed to me.”

Tony gives him the stink eye and closes the door behind them.

From her position on the couch, squished next to Tony, she sees Eduardo talk with the women in the kitchen ten minutes later. The synchronized turning of heads in her direction tells her the “mission” was a success.

$

A few hours later they are walking down the hallway, too close after pretending to be joined at the hip for most of the day, and stop in front of their respective doors.

“So, that was…fun,” Tony says with a grin.

“Mm, someone owing you a favor is always fun.” Her voice is flat, but she knows her eyes are giving her away.

And then he’s looking at her with a newfound fascination and asks, “What are you doing on Christmas?”

“I am Jewish, remember?” She unlocks and opens her door.

A slow smile plays on his lips as the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Loren hangs mistletoe everywhere…literally. You’d have a hard time dodging some of my uncles and cousins if you joined…us.”

“Then I will have to stick close to your side, yes?” she says and winks, before walking into her apartment and closing the door behind her, thankful for her neighbor’s preposterous idea.

 

 


	2. Faking Your Way Through Christmas Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was hard to write during the 30-day challenge. And caused a freak-out yesterday when I realized I had made, what I thought to be, a big mistake. Thank you @anonymous033 for turning that mountain back into a molehill (actually, it wasn’t even a molehill, more like one of those tiny piles of dirt worms dig up).

Ziva stops deliberately avoiding Tony after Thanksgiving. It would be suspicious if they never ran into each other after that particular dinner, right?

Except for that time she came home in the middle of the night, clothes covered in blood. She had gotten caught by two Russian mobsters while sneaking around an office, looking for intel on Hamas and the Russian mob working together. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, but it would have been challenging to talk her way out of that particular situation, without revealing she had done something illegal.

When Tony bumps into her, almost literally, the next day and asks about the bruises on her face, concern clouding his eyes, a hand hovering in the air hesitant to touch her, she shrugs it off with a mention of Krav Maga practice. He looks her up and down with interest, and asks her what the other guy looks like. “Worse,” she says with a wink before walking off.

Almost a week passes before they run into each other again, both exiting their apartment at the same time. He says, “Serendipity,” she frowns, and he invites her over for a movie. She knows she should say no, keep _some_ distance, but she wants to say yes so much more. So she does.

Later that evening she finds out just how obsessed he is with movies. She decides she needs to learn more about film culture. It’ll help her understand those insane American idioms, right?

Ziva invites him over for dinner a week later. She’s trying that recipe his aunt gave her at Thanksgiving. Who better to give an honest opinion on a DiNozzo recipe than a DiNozzo, or so she tells herself.

Their jobs keep them busy the rest of the week. Every now and then, Ziva wonders how he’s doing, whether he’s getting any sleep, or if he’s eating anything other than junk food, and does the team he boasted about really have his back. All for strictly professional reasons, obviously.

She’s walking out the lobby, ready for a 5 AM run, when he walks in, looking disheveled and worn out. The smile that appears on his lips when he sees her makes her stomach flip. She’s just hungry, right?

They say their good mornings and when she passes him he snakes an arm around her waist gently, turning her towards him. His warm smile is replaced with a mischievous grin as he slowly looks upwards, and she follows his gaze.

Who hangs mistletoe in a public area?

“It’s tradition,” Tony says as he stares at her mouth a little too long. And Ziva knows how important traditions are, so she stands on tiptoe, a hand on his chest—for balance, of course—and places her lips on his chapped ones.

When his tongue runs over her bottom lip, she doubts that particular move is part of the tradition. She opens her mouth, anyway. After all, what does she know about American traditions? She’s merely trying to fit into this culture, nothing more. It’s not as if her stomach is doing somersaults or anything. Right?

They break apart, breathing a little heavier than before. Ziva pats his chest lightly and draws in her bottom lip. “Interesting tradition,” is all she says before walking into the suddenly not-so cold morning air.

When she comes home from her run and unlocks her door, his door suddenly opens, and he’s not fooling anyone—least of all her—that this was a coincidence and he hadn’t been waiting for her to get back.

“Are you allergic to alpaca wool?”

“No,” she says confused.

“Nonna, she knits scarves for the whole family, she wanted to make sure you’re not allergic.”

Her chest clenches, this seems a little presumptuous. She only met his family once, and that had been part of a lie.

“Does she always knit something for new girlfriends?”

His mouth opens and closes. “No.” And he looks thoroughly uncomfortable now. “Usually only fiancées. She even refused to knit a scarf for my cousin Sam’s girlfriend; they were together for seven years.”

“Oh”, Ziva says with wide eyes.

“Of course, when they broke up, Nonna said she’d known all along.” He seems lost in thought, then gives her a curious look.

“So, you’re still keeping up the fake relationship?” Ziva asks waving a hand between them.

His hands slip into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he gives her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, about that, do you want to come over for Christmas dinner?”

Her mind drifts to the kiss they shared in the lobby. And on his family’s porch. And in their kitchen. She had worse undercover jobs than this one, so she agrees. She ignores the fact that this is not a job, and that the first kiss that came to mind was the one where they weren’t even trying to fool anyone. Perhaps she was trying to fool herself?

Ziva turns to enter her apartment, then stops and calls him back. “We should probably have dinner…discuss our _relationship_ in more detail than last time. I am making lasagna tonight.”

Tony’s smile could light up the hallway and he says he’s looking forward to it. It won’t be the only dinner they have before Christmas. As they both know, a good undercover op needs a lot of preparation. Of course, Tony doesn’t know she knows, and with every date—no, meeting—they have, it becomes harder to not let on that she’s not the glorified secretary she said she was.

Their last meeting is two days before the family dinner. They have enough information to setup a cover they could infiltrate the mob with, but Tony insists. “You don’t know my family,” he says.

It feels like she already does, though.

Ziva tops up his glass of red wine, and he says, “So, what did you get me for Christmas?”

She looks at him sideways as she places the bottle down. “They will ask,” he insists.

Taking a sip from her own glass she gives it some thought. “Some kind of a movie pass. For the both of us, because even though I don’t enjoy movies as much as you do, I love how much you enjoy them.” She bats her lashes, and he laughs.

“You’ll have them wrapped around your little finger,” he says as he tips his glass towards her before taking a sip.

“What did you get me?”

“Nothing.”

He says it so casually, she almost feels offended, before catching herself that none of this is real.

“But,” he starts, and the glint in his eye tells her he’s about to surprise her, “I’m getting you eight gifts for Hanukkah.”

Ziva frowns, then remembers reading about it being a Jewish tradition in the US. He looks so pleased with himself, she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not exactly how she celebrates Hanukkah.

She chuckles. “Trying to score cookies with my father who doesn’t even know we are fake-dating?”

Tony tilts his head. “That’s brownie points,” he corrects, and then shakes his head gravely. ”I can’t believe you still haven’t told him. What will we tell our fake-children five years from now?”

Ziva throws her napkin at him, and downs her glass of wine to hide her smile.

“Well, Hanukkah doesn’t begin until tomorrow evening, so you only have to think of two gifts.”

“Except, my family is a nosey bunch, and they’ll want to know what else I have lined up for you.”

She had caught glimpses of their curiosity on Thanksgiving.

“So, my gifts for you,” he says and looks around her apartment.

Ziva knows he’s pretending to figure out what kind of person she is. She also knows he got a pretty good look around the first time he came over. Even if he was sneaky about it.

“Fancy olive oil, the chocolate coins, a handmade journal to write down your travel adventures,” he says, and she briefly wonders how much time he put into this. He didn’t seem like the type who would be interested in other cultures or religions.

“A book…maybe, The Great Gatsby. And my Ohio State hoodie, which you were always stealing, anyway, because it makes you feel like I’m hugging you, even when I’m not around.”

Ziva wrinkles her nose, he merely laughs. She presses her lips tightly together to keep from laughing as well. The last thing he needs is encouragement.

Tony grabs his phone and a few seconds later her own phone chimes. He sent her the song “I’m gonna be 500 miles”. She looks up at him and quirks an eyebrow.

“Because no matter how far your job takes you, I will be there with you,” he says solemnly.

She rolls her eyes, but adds the song to her playlist, anyway.

“Oh,” he snaps his fingers at her, “I taught you how to make s’mores.”

“What are s’mores?” she asks, and wonders whether she should open another bottle of wine. Probably not.

“Apparently I didn’t do a very good fake-teaching job. I’ll send you a youtube link.”

“Do you think they’ll fall for it?” she asks suddenly. It’s a silly question, of course they will. Still…

“Hook, line and sinker,” he says confidently.

“What?” She cocks her head slightly.

“I’m replacing the fake-The Great Gatsby, with a fake-book on American idioms.”

She makes a face, then fidgets with her watch and notices how late it is. Time to call it a night.

“Two more things before I go,” he says as he walks to the door. “Should we practice fake-kissing? I don’t want to get stage fright during dinner.”

As tempting as that sounds, the lines had blurred enough already the past few days.

“You managed just fine last time.”

Tony grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and suddenly she wishes she hadn’t drunk that last glass of wine, because he’s up to something. His hand reaches out and he takes her Star of David between two fingers.

He lowers his voice, and his head. “You said you weren’t very religious. Why does this Star of David mean so much to you?”

Ziva watches the light play on the pendant as he carefully holds it. She inhales deeply and says, ”It was my sister’s.”

He narrows his eyes the slightest, and there’s a flash of suspicion, followed by empathy. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter, as if it doesn’t hurt every single day. It’s a reflex that won’t fool him, though, not after the way she reacted when he asked her to take it off.

“It was a Hamas bombing, she was only sixteen.”

She purses her lips into a thin smile, hoping this will be the end of the conversation. After several evenings of sharing half-truths and setting up lies for his family, she doesn’t want her sister’s memory to become entangled in this web of deceit. The fact that she wants to share more about her little sister with him is…disturbing.

Tony gives her a small nod. “It won’t come up during dinner.”

He opens the door, and leans in to kiss her forehead. The warm tingly sensation it causes confuses her. It’s too sappy, she doesn’t do sappy. But this fake-sappiness with the fake-gifts was sort of fun.

“If you have trouble sleeping,” and there’s that damn grin again, ”just imagine what it would be like to have fake-sex with me.”

Ziva tilts her head and says sweetly, “Because it’s so boring it will put me to sleep?”

He hangs his head in mock-defeat for a second, then winks and leaves.

The next evening she opens her mailbox and finds a s’mores kit and an envelope with ‘day eight’ written on it. She opens the envelope cautiously, even though she knows it’s from Tony. A charity gift card. She runs a finger over it, slightly mesmerized, and startles when her neighbor from across the hall walks by and greets her.

This is all such a bad idea, she thinks as she walks up to her apartment.

“S’mores are delicious,” she says as she opens the door to him on Christmas day.

Tony chuckles. “I know they are.”

“And…you shouldn’t have, but a few more parents won’t have to worry about their children dying from malaria.”

He smiles and shrugs. “’tis the season.”

And with that they head for his car.

He’s quieter than she’s used to. It’s a comfortable silence, though. And occasionally she catches him glancing her way. Of course, she wouldn’t know that if she didn’t keep glancing at him.

When they arrive half an hour later and walk inside, Ziva’s greeted like she’s part of the family already; all kisses on cheeks and bear hugs. She’s not used to showing that much affection, particularly around strangers, but she works with it. They mean well, after all. And they’re nice.

“You cannot be serious,” she whispers to Tony, as they finish their greetings and she looks around the living room.

“Oh, yes, I warned you, Loren takes mistletoe very seriously.”

“Three, Tony. And that is just the living room.”

“I brought chapstick,” he says with a lewd smile.

Ziva lightly slaps his stomach with the back of her hand. “What does the rest of the house look like?” she says slightly exasperated.

“I’d be more than happy to give you a tour,” he answers. “We can start in one of the bedrooms,” he continues, waggling his eyebrows.

Ziva rolls her eyes, and hands him a glass of champagne to shut him up.

And then his father walks in. All charm and flair, and the resemblance is uncanny, really.

He hugs his son as if they’re peanut butter and jelly. She knows they’re not, Tony told her. He also taught her that phrase, after laughing at her for not understanding it.

Then the older man turns to her with a smile, eerily similar to Tony’s.

“You must be Ziva,” he says and hugs her. She looks over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow at Tony, who looks annoyed. “The family has told me so much about you,” he says as he lets her go and takes a step back. She’s secretly relieved they’re not standing under any mistletoe; she has a feeling that might provoke Tony.

“Well, I have heard about you, too,” she says, and it’s the first time during this charade she thinks her smile might come across as forced.

Senior cheerfully turns to Tony, though, and she can’t help but wonder whether the old man is that oblivious to his son’s feelings, or whether he’s that good of an actor.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was this gorgeous, Junior?”

“We’ve barely spoken in four months,” Tony replies testily.

Senior’s face falters the slightest at that, but he’s saved when the family matriarch walks up to greet him. Ziva takes Tony’s hand and guides him towards the snacks. The last thing she wants is for him to get into an argument with his father on Christmas.

They chat with a few of his other family members, and his mood improves visibly. Especially when one of his cousins asks about their Christmas gifts, and makes a point of wanting to know about the six remaining Hanukkah gifts.

An hour later, Nonna is sharing cooking tips with her when Tony sidles up with a small smile. He bumps her with his hip and she gives him a confused look, taking a step to the side. Less than a minute later, he repeats the move and she glares at him; his Nonna is considering sharing a family recipe and she doesn’t want to miss out. She takes another step to her left and focuses on the conversation once more.

When he gently shoves her another foot and she turns to him, mouth open to berate him for his childish behavior, his mouth crushes hers before any sound can come out.

Seriously? In front of his Nonna? Like this? Her hand moves to his cheek on its own accord, though.

Tony breaks away with a huge grin and hooded eyes. And he really shouldn’t be looking at her like that. That doesn’t look fake, at all. Did he take acting classes since Thanksgiving?

He turns to his Nonna, grin still in place, and says, “Ziva’s a really good…” and she can feel her face burning, “cook.” Then he pecks her on the lips and walks off as if nothing happened.

Nonna takes a piece of paper from one of the kitchen drawers and hands it to her with a wide smile. Scribbled Italian, looks like a recipe. When she meets the old woman’s gaze again, she’s met with a wink and something about it being her great-grandchildren’s favorite.

Great-grandchildren? This is getting a little too serious. And she wants to run, all the way to her apartment, but then Eduardo—why did it have to be Eduardo—taps her on the shoulder and plants one on her, because she’s still standing underneath the mistletoe Tony pushed her under. She looks into the dining room in disgust and sees Tony cringe at her.

Tony manages to not strangle his father during dinner. Ziva likes to think she played no small part in keeping him distracted. After dessert, Nonna declares it’s time for Christmas presents, and Ziva’s gut starts to churn, remembering what Tony told her about the scarf.

She struggles to not fidget in her seat, and Tony pulls her closer, and really, that just makes her more uncomfortable.

Nonna starts handing out her handmade gifts, and for a few moments, Ziva thinks—hopes—Tony was wrong; that she wouldn’t receive anything, after all. But then Nonna walks over to her with a gleam in her eye and a smile, and Ziva’s heart stops. Her ears start ringing, and what was she saying? Something about babies? And then Tony kisses her on the temple, and it’s suddenly too crowded and too hot, and why the hell did she agree to this.

Somehow Senior manages to make things even worse, when he apologizes to Tony for being a lousy father, and gives him a ring box. His mother’s engagement ring, “she would want you to have it, son”, and she can feel Tony’s shock radiating of his body as all eyes are on the two of them.

Ziva’s vaguely aware of Tony glancing at her sideways. She’s not sure how to react, though, this isn’t exactly a situation she trained for. Or ever expected to find herself in.

Tony looks deeply affected, and gets up to hug his dad. And all she can do is wonder if she’ll ruin things for them. What if his family finds out the truth? Will whatever progress he and his dad have just made be in vain?

He sits back down and shows her the ring, he can’t not with everyone looking at them, and confusion swirls in his eyes. It’s beautiful, expensive as far as she can tell. He pockets it with an awkward smile, and conversation slowly picks up around them again. Some of it hushed, with furtive glances and big smiles in their direction.

It makes her feel more on edge than the first time Mossad sent her on a mission.

She grabs her new scarf and wraps it around her neck, relishing in the softness and warmness for a second, and drags Tony outside whispering, “We need to talk.”

He still looks a little befuddled when they’re standing on the porch. Then she sees him looking at the porch swing where they kissed a month ago.

Ziva’s still gathering her thoughts, when he grabs her by the scarf and pulls her in for a kiss. She doesn’t respond immediately and he pulls back slightly, and whispers, “Mistletoe.”

Her eyes drift upwards, and sure enough, more green twigs dangle above their heads. And when she’s thinking about how inconvenient this tradition is becoming, he sucks on her bottom lip, and her arm goes around his neck on its own volition.

Ziva gives in to her baser desires, and as she tastes the eggnog on his tongue, and his hands move from the scarf to cradle her head and pull her closer by the waist, all her nerve endings begin to tingle.

They break apart at a thump against the kitchen window. When they look in the direction of the sound, they see Loren and two other cousins scatter away.

“They are not very subtle,” she says dryly, trying to reign in her emotions and clear her head.

“Well, a common family nickname is DiNosey, so…”

His goofy smile and hooded eyes aren’t helping, and she stares at him for a moment, wondering if he’s getting in too deep. She certainly feels as if she is.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tony,” she says with determination.

He tilts his head, and asks, “Do what anymore? The kissing? Because you seemed to be enjoying that just as much as I was.”

“It’s one thing to pretend in order to…” She breathes out through her nose, realizing she almost gave herself away. “Your family deserves better. I cannot keep lying like this”

“Then don’t.”

He says it so casually, she wonders what he’s implying.

“And what, pretend to break up with you on Christmas Day in front of your family?”

“No. Date me, for real.”

She opens her mouth and narrows her eyes, but doesn’t know what to say.

His face falls the tiniest bit, and she can tell, even though they don’t know each other that well, that being this open wasn’t a habit of his.

But then his brows squish together and he raises his chin, and asks, “In order to what?”

“Hmm?”

“You said, it’s one thing to pretend in order to…what?”

Maybe she should’ve simply agreed to date him for real, without hesitation. Then she wouldn’t have to dodge this question. She doesn’t really want to keep lying and hiding things from him, though. He’s…nice, interesting, and keeping up with the lies would ruin their…friendship…in the long run.

She rubs her forehead. “I haven’t been entirely…straightforward with you.”

“Really?” he mocks.

She glares. His gut instincts are too good. Which is annoying, but if she tells him more about herself now, maybe they could collaborate in the future and his instincts would be of good use to her and Mossad.

“That Israeli company I work for,” she says, and he frowns. She takes a deep breath, then says, “It’s Mossad.”

His eyes narrow, and he scoffs, “What?”

She merely raises an eyebrow, and he tilts his head, eyes going wide. “Nooo,” he laughs a little, “that’s…”

Tony takes a step back, and honestly, that stings more than it should. He inhales deeply. “Wow, I mean, I knew something was up, but…”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You’re a spy?”

Ziva bites her bottom lip, it’s not that she’s supposed to keep being Mossad completely secret on this mission, but she’s not supposed to broadcast it either. She looks away for a moment, considering how much she can tell him. Her gaze drifts to the kitchen window and she arches an eyebrow.

“Half of your family is watching us.”

Tony closes his eyes for a second. “They’re probably waiting for me to go down on one knee.”

“Oh god, please don’t,” Ziva says hastily as she turns her attention to him again.

“Is the thought of being fake-engaged so horrible?” He’s being sarcastic, but she can’t help but hear some hurt in his voice.

“What did we just talk about?” she answers with slight exasperation.

“That you’re a spy,” he deadpans.

Her eyes drift heavenward, and she notices the mistletoe again. Her skin tingles like a Pavlovian response, remembering what kissing him a few minutes ago felt like. Remembering their kiss in the lobby. Would it really be so bad if she gave in?

He’s looking at her with a mixture of scrutiny and excitement.

“Look, I cannot tell you much about why I am in the US, but I am not here to kill anyone or anything, if that is what you’re thinking.”

A small nod, but it’s evident in his eyes he doesn’t necessarily believe her. And that shouldn’t hurt either. Their current relationship, friendship, was based on lying to his family, after all. He has no reason to trust her.

Tony lets his arms fall to his side, and a flicker of disappointment crosses over his face.

“Was anything you told me real?”

She meets his eyes, and swallows, for the first time noticing the cold chill outside. “You asked me to lie to your family, remember.” She keeps her voice low enough so no one in the kitchen can hear.

He rolls his eyes, and she haltingly adds, “There were a lot of…half-truths.”

“Like the Israeli company?”

She gives a small nod.

“What about your sister?”

She feels anger flare inside her for a moment, then she realizes he has no reason to not doubt her honesty on that. He must have seen the truth and hurt on her face, because he looks remorseful and apologizes.

Ziva reigns in her emotions, and says, “Her name was Tali.”

Tony takes a step closer at that admission, and she can’t stop the corners of her mouth from curving  upwards. She should not enjoy his proximity as much as she does.

“Would dating a Mossad officer give you trouble at work?” she asks, unsure of whether he’s still interested after her little revelation.

“No more than anything else I’ve done in the past,” he says with a gleam in his eye.

“Would _you_ have a problem with that?”

“You know how much I like spy movies,” he says with a grin. His gaze flicks to her mouth and he leans closer.

And yeah, he’s clearly still interested in dating her for real. Her stomach is doing that thing again, and the scarf around her neck is suddenly too warm.

She unwraps it, loops it around his neck and pulls him in. He’s inches from her face now, and she can’t help but stare at his lips for a moment, remembering how soft they feel. How he makes her feel.

“I might want to tell my father I’m dating an American, just to get under his skin. He won’t fall for the fake-dating thing, though.” She says it with a hint of playfulness, and stomps down her emotions in case he rebuffs her.

But then he grins broadly, and all doubt leaves his eyes—she knows it’ll be back, but it’s a start.

“Count me in,” he says and closes the remaining distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to all who have been leaving some kind of feedback on my stories. It's greatly appreciated.


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